RIC S. BASTASA


The Ritual Of Morning - Poem by RIC S. BASTASA

I went out early this morning to take a walk and see the world
At its unfolding, Skies grey and moving slowly away from light,
The dim lights, Pushing away dark clouds vice versa tugging each other Perhaps not wanting to part (Whatever happened last night? Nobody wants to recall)

Towards an edge on the right corner of the gym, Everything is shadowy (Like a dawn tryst In a tight room so foul
Filled with cheap perfume Beating warmth like Pink baby rats)

A black outline of coconut trees, Some houses appearing as smoke
Rising to the skies Like men smoking, Letting go off The sighs inside
their hearts
They are huge and keeps a chest full of Frogs wanting to jump
Into the pond, their dreams croak and croak
Throughout this hot summer Pleading to the white heronFor rain and more rain Lest they die

What arrived instead is the plow, Their territories cut into small pieces
And some will have no place to live, I am referring to the frogs
like men And the children Of the little space This pond drying itself
To death. The air is thin and sharp to the feel Of guts
Gathering the early dusts of the south bound road, And few raindrops
Fell on the chalky pathways some two or Three farm children running for cover,

I walk fast, trying to outrun The children, the frogs, the men,
And the shadowy coconut trees, Fast and faster still Like my thoughts running and running In circles Oval to this gym

The first ray is coming out From the edge of a grey cloud Pushed towards a darker side To my eyes Lights stab and light
With more light Gushing forth from the stomach
Of dawn.

Someone just performed The ritual of morning The birth Of another day, I walk past time And must go home on time
I have my lover for breakfast Waiting And some thoughts
Running and running thoughts wanting To stop.


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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, April 1, 2008



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